Five Times Uther Disappointed Arthur
by NomDePlume519
Summary: ...And One Time He Didn't. 2-shot, Pre-series. Arthur's relationship with Uther at different ages.
1. Part 1

**Five Times Uther Disappointed Arthur…And One Time He Didn't**

**Age 6**

It had been raining for days, and a very bored Arthur had decided to roam the castle for lack of anything better to do. He had come across a serving boy, Jem, of about the same size. After making sure nobody else was around, they got to talking, and then playing. It turned out that Jem himself wasn't actually a servant; his father worked in the castle on the cleaning staff, and Jem had no mother. Both boys had recently turned six. There was plenty on which to base a friendship.

Jem showed Arthur some of the back corridors in the castle, those used only by servants. Except when Arthur was occupied with his lessons, they spent two days racing each other up and down stairs and playing hide-and-seek. When the rain finally stopped, Arthur took Jem outside and showed him how to use the new wooden sword that he'd gotten as a birthday gift. Jem taught Arthur how to climb trees in the apple orchard. Arthur began to teach Jem how to read.

It couldn't last, of course. Servants were quietly gossiping about how sweet the boys were together. Most of the knights studiously ignored the pair whenever they saw them in each other's company. But sooner or later, word got back to King Uther that his son was spending an improper amount of time with a servant boy. Unsurprisingly, Uther decided to put an immediate stop to such unseemly behavior.

Arthur stood in front of his father and listened to all the reasons he could no longer play with Jem. He was a servant. Well, even if Jem had no actual job, princes could not associate with children of a lower station. No, Jem was _not_ Arthur's friend, he probably only liked Arthur because of his title. And finally, in exasperation, because Uther forbid it. End of discussion!

Arthur ran back to his room in tears. He didn't care what his father said, Jem _was_ his real friend, and he was going to play with him anyway. They'd just have to be careful, that's all, and not get caught. After he calmed down, Arthur went looking for his friend in the tiny room Jem and his father shared.

Sure enough, Jem was there, but the other boy wouldn't even look at him. It took Arthur commanding, _as Prince_, that Jem speak to him to get a hurried explanation. "The king told my father if we're ever caught together again, he will have to leave Camelot," Jem whispered, staring at the floor to hide the wetness in his eyes. "My father _needs_ this job. I'm sorry, Arthur, but I can't be your friend anymore." As hurt and angry as Arthur was, he understood. He didn't try to approach Jem again.

Over the next few weeks, Arthur passed Jem in the corridors occasionally. Both boys made an effort to look the other way. But sometimes, after they had passed each other, Arthur would turn and look at Jem longingly, wishing for his friend back. One day, he noticed Jem helping his father with his work, and it warmed Arthur to know that now both were employed. That should make things easier for them. He stood behind a pillar for a while, listening to their father-and-son banter, and watching as the two of them carefully washed and dried and shined the multi-colored windows until they glistened. After a while, he turned away, a wistful smile on his face, only to find himself standing before a stern-faced Uther. Arthur swallowed, looked away guiltily, and walked in the other direction.

The next morning, Jem and his father were gone.

**Age 12**

Arthur and his friends were standing near the water pump, watching for girls. They did this a lot, mostly because Harold and Richard liked it. Arthur thought it was stupid. He thought Owen might think that, too, but Owen did everything Harold and Richard did – and so did Arthur. Harold was fourteen, and he said he knew all about girls. He especially liked to look for girls with large chests. He and Richard would point them out to each other and whisper things that Arthur really didn't care about. Girls – yuck!

These four boys were sort of friends by default. They trained together every day, taking weapons lessons from Sir Kay. They weren't ready to train with the knights yet, so their (noble) families paid for their sons to have lessons until they _were_ ready. They spent hours training together, so it was natural that they would spend other time together, too.

"Hey, Arthur," said Richard, "why did Sir Kay want you to stay late today?"

Arthur flushed with pride. "He said I've been doing really well, and he thinks I'm ready to start working with the knights an hour or two a week."

The other boys looked at each other. "I'll bet if my daddy was king," said Harold, "I'd get to work with the knights, too."

Arthur frowned. "It's not because of who I am," he protested. "I've been working hard on my training."

"Maybe," said Richard, "but it's not as if you have to. You're the king's son. You want to train with the knights, you get to train with the knights. Oooh, look at her!" he exclaimed, pointing to a very large-chested young woman headed for the pump. "You think she'll bend over?" He watched her intently, hoping for a better show.

Arthur was indignant. He knew he had earned the right to train with the knights, no matter what his friends said. Arthur always worked very hard on his weapons training, while the other three often just went through the motions. But they were back to talking about girls again, so Arthur sat there with nothing to say.

"Let's do something else," Arthur said after a while.

"What for, this is great!" replied Harold, motioning to an ample woman leaning over as she pumped water into her bucket, giving the boys an unexpected view.

"Well, I'm bored," said Arthur. "Owen, don't you want to do something else?" Owen looked at the other boys for a moment, and then nodded.

"Fine," huffed Harold. "I suppose if I lived in the castle and could have any girl I wanted, I would be bored here, too."

"Yeah," chimed in Richard. "With all those serving girls walking by all the time, I bet you get to see a lot of 'girls'" He motioned with his hands to indicate breasts. "You know, Arthur, just because you're a prince, and can have anything you want, doesn't mean you should always spoil _our_ fun."

"It's not like that!" Arthur exclaimed, ready to tell Richard exactly how wrong he was in so many ways. But Harold cut him off.

"Okay, okay, we'll do something else. Let's go down to the market stalls. There's always something to do down there."

The group started walking toward the market. At a fruit stall, they each managed to sneak a hand out and swipe something. They ran a short distance and ate their prizes, and Harold suddenly announced that he knew what they should do next.

"It's brilliant!" he said. "We'll grab some broomsticks, see, and start sparring near the fruit stall. But sometimes we'll miss a block or parry or something, and a stick will smash into the fruit. It will look like we're sparring, a little badly maybe, but we'll really be smashing the fruit all over the place. It'll be great!"

Arthur looked at Harold in shock. "You can't do that," he exclaimed. "Selling that fruit is how they make their living."

"They're farmers, Arthur," said Richard derisively. "They'll pick more for tomorrow." He obviously had no problem with the idea.

Arthur looked at Owen, who looked at the other two boys and then shrugged. "It sounds like fun to me," he said.

"Well I won't do it," Arthur declared. "It's wrong. And you shouldn't do it either."

"What is the matter with you, Arthur?" demanded Harold. "You're the one who wanted to do something fun. You didn't want to look at girls with us. Now you don't want to do this. Maybe you don't want to be friends with us at all anymore, is that it? Now that you've got your daddy's knights to hang out with, we're not good enough for you anymore?"

Arthur was stung. He did want to be friends. "It's not like that," he mumbled.

"Good," said Harold with satisfaction. Richard went to a nearby stall and grabbed four brooms, tossing the owner a few coins when she protested. He handed them out, and Arthur watched the other boys remove the sticks from the brush. He just stood there, holding his broom. He couldn't do this.

"Well?" asked Richard, looking at Arthur's still intact broom.

"I won't do it," Arthur said quietly. "I'm still your friend. But I can't do this."

The other boys angrily turned their backs on Arthur, and soon were making a show of sparring, two against one, near the fruit stall. Soon a stick made contact with the fruit, followed quickly by another. Arthur could hear the outraged yelling of the fruit seller and the laughter of his friends, and he could no longer keep still. He had to stop them. He pulled the stick from his broom and rushed into the fray, trying to block any stick that was aimed at the fruit display. Richard, Harold, and Owen responded by dropping the sparring act altogether. They just aimed at the fruit, and bits were flying in all directions. Arthur was defending against three opponents, and he wasn't able to block them all. By now, most of the fruit was unrecognizable, just trays of battered pulp.

Suddenly Arthur felt strong hands gripping his arms and pulling him back, and he saw some of the King's Guards handling his friends the same way. The broomstick was yanked from his grasp, and Arthur was pulled into a line with the other boys. As the guards marched the four of them towards the castle, Arthur realized that he was actually under arrest.

A short while later, Arthur and his friends were led into the Throne Room and made to stand in front of the king. Arthur could hardly look at his father. He knew he looked a mess – they all did, covered with splattered bits of fruit pulp. Arthur had never been brought before his father this way, and he was trying very hard not to show how scared he was.

The fruit seller was there, and described the staged sparring and subsequent attacking of his stall. One of the guards explained what he saw when he and the other guards stopped the boys and arrested them. Arthur dared a glance at his father's face, but it looked so angry, he dropped his gaze immediately. The guard finished talking, and there was a long silence.

King Uther glared at the four miscreants before him. "I cannot believe," he said slowly, "that you four would do such a despicable thing. You attacked this man's livelihood. There is no excuse for this kind of behavior from anyone, but from you! You, sons of the most noble families in Camelot, that you would do such a base thing is incomprehensible."

He turned to the fruit seller. "Do you know how much income you lost today because of this incident?"

"Not yet, Sire," he answered.

"I will send one of my knights back to your stall with you to get a fair accounting. These boys' families will reimburse you double your losses."

The fruit seller bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said with relief.

"As for you," King Uther said, turning his full attention to the boys standing in front of him, "I believe some time in the dungeons will do you some good."

"Sire, may I speak?" asked Arthur. He needed to set the record straight about this, right now!

Uther's eyes met those of his son, and Arthur could see nothing but coldness and anger in them. It was a frightening sight. After a beat, Uther slowly nodded.

"I wasn't doing what they were doing, Sire. I was trying to stop them." Arthur spoke quickly, but clearly. "I told them not to do it in the first place, and I didn't go with them. But when they started smashing the fruit, I had to help, so I went over and tried to block as many blows as I could, to keep them away. I was trying to stop it."

Uther turned to the fruit seller. "Is that what you saw?" he asked.

The fruit seller shook his head. "I just saw boys and sticks, Your Majesty. I don't know if what he says is true or not."

Uther looked at the guard, who said, "Four boys, four sticks."

The king turned to the other boys. "Is Arthur telling the truth? Was he trying to stop you?"

Owen and Richard looked at Harold. Harold looked at Arthur for a moment, and then back at the king. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but that's not what happened. The whole thing was Arthur's idea in the first place." Owen and Richard nodded.

Arthur couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "Liar!" he shouted, and launched himself at Harold, fists ready, but he was quickly restrained. "Liar, you're all liars," he kept shouting, trying to free himself. It took two guards to hold him.

"That's enough!" shouted Uther. Arthur stopped shouting and struggling; he knew that tone of voice. "Take these boys to the dungeons and put them in separate cells. They are not to communicate with each other."

As the guards started leading them out, Arthur had to try again. "Father, please listen," he called. "I was telling the truth! I've _never_ lied to you! Please, Father, I was only trying to stop them." He stopped shouting only when he was sure his father could no longer hear him. Then he gave up and let himself be led to the dungeons and locked in a cell.

It was damp and cold. The only blanket in the cell was disgustingly dirty. Arthur was sure he heard rats. That's when he realized his clothes were covered with bits of food. He wrapped himself in the blanket, filthy or not, hoping that covering up the fruit stains would keep the rats away.

Why had Harold lied? They were friends, weren't they? A friend would have told the truth, backed him up. But Harold had lied, and Richard and Owen had agreed with him. Arthur finally realized that these boys were not his friends. Arthur didn't like the way they treated him, and he didn't feel comfortable with them the way friends should. Maybe having no friends was better than these three. He would be lonely, but he could be true to himself. This decision made, he leaned back against the wall and tried to sleep.

The next morning, Arthur heard his former friends being released to their parents. He was informed that he would be remaining in the cell for three more days as punishment for lying to his king.

**Age 4**

Arthur was excited as he drew his picture. He had finally gotten an idea that would make his father happy. It was hard to make his father happy, since he was a king, and kings had so many things to worry about. But Arthur knew his surprise would do it. He grinned as he imagined the smile on his father's face. Maybe he would even get a pat on the head, or if he was very lucky, a hug.

Arthur had gotten his big idea earlier in the day when he was talking to his nurse, Jane. He thought he was really too old for a nurse, but she took good care of him, and he liked her. He had discovered that Jane had a daughter just a little older than he was, named Betsy. And Betsy had a father, too. She had both a mother _and_ a father. Arthur had asked Jane why _he_ didn't have a mother and father both. She had looked very uncomfortable, but had gently told Arthur that his mother had died when he was just a baby.

"_What do you mean?" asked Arthur._

_Jane sighed. "Your mother got very sick and died, Arthur. She went away and couldn't come back. It made everyone very sad, especially the king. He won't let anyone talk about her."_

_Arthur thought about this for a few minutes. "Before my mother died, was Father happy?" he asked._

"_Oh, yes," answered Jane. "Very, very happy. But Arthur, we really aren't allowed to talk about this. You wouldn't want me to get into trouble, would you?"_

_Arthur's eyes were round as saucers as he shook his head. "I promise I won't tell," he declared. Then he gave Jane a big hug and whispered in her ear, "It's a secret."_

Arthur finished his drawing and trotted off to find his father. The king was easy to find, sitting on his throne talking to some of his advisors. Arthur recognized Gaius and Geoffrey, but didn't remember anybody else's name. Uther looked up as little Arthur ran forward, waving his drawing in the air. Arthur stopped before the throne and waited for his father to speak to him, as he had been taught, but it was so hard to wait that Arthur was practically bouncing with excitement.

Uther gave an indulgent smile. "You wanted to see me, Arthur," he asked, idly wondering who was supposed to be looking after his son right now and why he was alone.

"Yes, Father," piped up Arthur happily. "I made you a picture as a surprise!" He handed it to his father and eagerly waited for his reaction.

Uther looked at the drawing of two smiling figures with rounded tummies, stick arms and legs, smiling faces, and crowns on their heads. "Is this a picture of you and me, Arthur?" he asked.

Arthur was surprised that his father didn't recognize her. "No," he answered. "It's you and my mother, before I was born. See? You're both happy! I thought if you had a picture of my mother to look at you could be happy again…" Arthur trailed off. His father didn't look happy, not at all. He looked angry. "Don't you like it?" Arthur asked timidly, suddenly feeling a little scared.

The throne room was deathly silent. Uther stared at his son. In a quiet voice that was somehow terrifying, he asked, "Arthur, who has been speaking to you about your mother?"

"N-n-nobody," Arthur lied. He swallowed. He'd promised Jane not to get her in trouble.

"Then why did you draw this picture?" Uther held up the drawing and stabbed his finger at the offending figure of his deceased wife.

Arthur felt tears rolling down his cheeks. What had gone wrong? "I thought you would like it. I wanted you to have a queen and me to have a mother. I thought you'd be happy. I thought…I thought…" Arthur couldn't talk anymore, he was crying too hard.

Gaius appeared from somewhere, knelt down, and put an arm around the boy's shoulders. "With your permission, Your Majesty," he said, and took the sobbing prince from the throne room. As they left, Arthur heard his father say ominously, "If I ever find out who has been speaking to Arthur about his mother, I will have his head," which only made Arthur cry harder.

Gaius took Arthur back to his chambers, where he found Jane and told her what had happened. Her white face confirmed his suspicions, but he let it go. Together they calmed Arthur down and got him tucked into bed for a nap. Jane sat with him and stroked his hair until he fell asleep. Arthur and Jane never spoke of his mother again.

The next morning, Arthur discovered the last remnants of his drawing in the ashes of the throne room fireplace.


	2. Part 2

**Age 15**

Arthur had been training with the knights (and knight hopefuls) for years now, and though he was a long time away from his own knighting, he knew he was a solid swordsman. There was a tournament coming up soon, not the smaller invitation-only annual tourney, but the giant Triennial Tournament, a best swordsman competition open to all knights in all kingdoms near and far. It attracted a field of well over a hundred entrants, and Arthur desperately wanted to enter himself.

He had worked extra hard on all his skills, and had even managed to disarm Sir Kay once, an almost unheard of feat. After a discussion with both Sir Ector (the leader of Camelot's knights) and King Uther, Arthur had been granted a Special Dispensation for Royalty. It was the only way a non-knight could enter this tournament; King Bayard's son had entered this way three years ago and made it to the semi-finals. Arthur was younger now than Prince Bayric had been then, and he had no illusions of winning the tournament – or even getting close; he would be pleased to get through the qualifying rounds without making any major mistakes. His opponents would be men he might have to fight side by side with (or battle against!) in the future, and he was anxious to test himself in this very challenging but non-lethal setting. Watching hundreds of knights squaring off against each other would also give him a rare opportunity to observe many different techniques and styles of fighting.

The week of the Triennial Tournament finally arrived, and Arthur was rarely without his sword in his hand. There were so many contestants that the qualifying matches took three full days. Between his own matches, Arthur practiced. Camelot's knights knew how much the tournament meant to their young prince, and were happy to spend extra time sparring with Arthur or working on his skills (plus, his extra practice was theirs as well!).

Arthur made short work of his first three opponents, young knights all from small, far away kingdoms. Arthur was a gracious winner, helping up his fallen opponents with clasped forearms and friendly claps on the shoulder before bowing to his king (and receiving a small smile and nod of pride from his father).

There was one knight, though, that Sir Ector made Arthur watch closely from the very first round. Sir Etienne, who had traveled all the way from Gaul, defeated every contestant he faced in under a minute. Arthur had never seen anyone move so quickly, with such economy of motion. His skill with a blade was astounding; his opponents could find no weakness to exploit. Arthur watched him carefully, trying to learn something, anything, from the man's fighting style.

By the time Arthur faced his fourth opponent on the afternoon of the third day, most of the weaker knights had been eliminated. Arthur felt he had achieved his goal, and any further wins would be a bonus – welcome, but not expected. Sir Ector wouldn't let Arthur practice anymore, but had him stand on the sidelines instead, watching every single match, analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of every contestant. Arthur had watched Sir Etiennne quickly disarm his friend Sir Leon, and had barely seen how it had been accomplished. (By now, almost everyone agreed that Sir Etienne was a certainty to win the entire tournament.) For his own fourth match, the prince had drawn another of Camelot's knights, Sir Pellinor. Both knew well each other's strengths and weaknesses, and both were determined to advance. Arthur won, but barely.

On day four, the field had been narrowed to the top sixteen knights. Arthur was frankly astonished that he was one of them. His next opponent was an experienced knight from Cornwall who towered over Arthur by at least a foot. Sir Gorran looked down at Arthur in arrogant contempt and undisguised amusement that this mere boy, not even yet a knight, would dare to face him. He clearly expected Arthur to be no challenge at all.

Arthur played along. He let Sir Gorran attack first, and blocked with less than his full strength. He let the knight back him up several paces. Arthur even allowed himself to stumble slightly. And then, as Sir Gorran stepped in to easily take advantage of Arthur's "weaknesses," Arthur suddenly attacked in an unexpected flurry of motion, proving that he was the exact opposite of the weakling he had just appeared to be, and the startled Sir Gorran found himself with Arthur's blade at his throat. The spectators went wild as Sir Gorran threw down his helmet in disgust and spat at Prince Arthur's feet. Arthur chose to ignore the vindictive insult. He had just made it into the quarter-finals! He bowed to King Uther and saw an expression of pride on his father's face – and he, Arthur, had put it there!

The quarter-final match would be Arthur's last; he was up against Sir Etienne. Sir Ector bluntly told him that winning against the knight from Gaul would be impossible, and that Arthur should count himself extremely lucky he was even getting the chance to face him. "The bout against Sir Pellinore was a close thing and could have gone either way," Sir Ector reminded the young prince, "and if Sir Gorran hadn't badly underestimated you, he would have taken you apart." Arthur started to protest, but the older knight cut him off. "Don't even try to defeat Sir Etienne," he ordered. "You can't. Instead, take this as an opportunity to learn from him. That is why you entered this tournament, is it not? To learn?"

Arthur nodded slowly. Sir Ector was right. Arthur had hoped to qualify, and he had. He'd wanted to prove that he could acquit himself well, and he had done that, too. He had intended to observe the techniques of knights from many different places, and he had been doing so. The quarter-finals should have been well out of his reach. There would be no shame in losing this match; now was the time to put aside his pride and learn.

Arthur faced Sir Etienne with grim determination. He acted as if the match were a blocking exercise, and did not try to defeat his opponent. Instead, he observed Sir Etienne's technique. The other man was quick; Arthur had to work very hard to counter Sir Etienne's moves. Because Arthur was acting purely on the defensive, Sir Etienne had to work hard as well, trying to find openings he could exploit. Eventually he got Arthur off balance, and in an embarrassing tangle of his own feet, Arthur went down. But he had lasted for almost three minutes, the longest anyone would face Sir Etienne in the entire tournament. Arthur formally yielded, and Sir Etienne reached down to help Arthur back to his feet. "You are very good, young prince," he said for Arthur's ears only as they walked back to the staging area. "I have no doubt that in three year's time, you and I will meet again – in the finals."

Sir Etienne did indeed win the Triennial Tournament the following afternoon (soundly defeating Camelot's Sir Kay in the final), and was crowned Champion at the feast that evening. Arthur enjoyed the feast as he had never enjoyed one before – this was special. He was one of the contestants being celebrated. The food tasted better, the candles shone brighter, and Arthur felt as if he were walking on air the entire evening. Many knights came over to speak to him, to congratulate him for making it as far as he had, especially at such a young age, and for lasting the longest against the champion, Sir Etienne. Arthur wanted the evening never to end.

Suddenly Arthur found himself face to face with his father. He inclined his head and waited for the well-earned praise he knew was coming.

"You fought well, Arthur," Uther began, and Arthur felt a rush of pride. "I was pleased to see how well your skills are progressing. However, it seems that you and Sir Ector have been neglecting your footwork. I will speak to him."

Arthur's stomach suddenly felt hollow. "Yes, Father," he replied mechanically. The king moved away to speak with someone else. Arthur looked around the room, which seemed dimmer now, somehow. Others came to speak with him, to offer their own praise and congratulations, and Arthur answered with the expected modest smile. But the evening had lost its shine, and Arthur left the celebration as soon as he was able.

The next morning, Arthur was training before dawn, all alone, concentrating fiercely on his footwork.

**Age 8**

Uther sat in a chair by Arthur's bed, holding his sleeping son's hand and brushing the hair away from the boy's fevered brow. Gaius wrung out another cool, wet cloth and placed it on Arthur's forehead. Uther used it to wipe down Arthur's face until the cloth was warm again; it felt like it only took mere seconds now.

"We'll need to remove his shirt," the physician said quietly. "His body needs to be cooled as much as possible."

Uther lifted his son's frail torso while Gaius carefully removed the shirt, and laid him gently back onto his pillows. The two men continued to wipe down Arthur's exposed skin, hoping against hope to bring the fever down. This illness had struck many of Camelot's citizens, especially the children, and the death toll was climbing. Uther had not left Arthur's bedside in two days.

"Your Majesty, I must go tend to some of my other patients," whispered Gaius. Uther felt a flash of anger; he wanted Gaius to stay here! Arthur was all that mattered. But at the same time, he recognized how selfish that was. There were many sick children that needed help, and _they_ were all that mattered to _their_ parents. Gaius was indeed needed elsewhere. He reluctantly nodded, and Gaius gave instructions for caring for the young prince in his absence.

Uther continued to wipe down his son's burning body, and suddenly found himself talking to the boy. He doubted Arthur could hear him, but it mattered not. He spoke of getting better, being strong and healthy as befits a prince. He told Arthur to fight the fever, not to let it overpower him.

When Arthur opened his eyes, they didn't seem to be able to focus on anything, but Uther helped his son to sit and got him to drink some water and a little of the medicine Gaius had left. As Uther tucked Arthur back down into his bed, he found himself telling his son about a time when he had been ill as a child, and how his father had cared for him. Arthur's glazed eyes looked through his father for a few minutes before closing again.

Uther continued to talk to Arthur. It was as if once he started, he couldn't stop. He told his son detailed stories about his childhood, people he'd known, places he'd visited, trouble he'd gotten himself into. He told Arthur how much he loved him and wanted him to recover. He rambled on about anything and everything he could think of. He only stopped when Gaius came in to check on the young prince, and declared everything was as well as could be expected. Uther refused to leave Arthur's side, and after Gaius had gone again, he resumed his monologue while he cared for his beloved child.

Sometime during the early morning hours, Uther fell asleep in his chair, his head on the bed next to Arthur's shoulder and his right hand reaching across Arthur's chest to clasp his son's left. Gaius found them that way at dawn, and was delighted to wake the king to tell him that Arthur's fever had broken and the prince was out of danger. Uther felt like shouting his joy and relief from the battlements, but contented himself with placing a gentle kiss on his son's forehead. His attempt to disentangle his hand from Arthur's woke the boy.

"Father," whispered Arthur. "You're still here. I thought I was dreaming."

Uther caressed his precious son. "I'm sure you had many dreams, Arthur. But yes, I was here with you. I stayed until you were better."

"Stay with me some more," begged the boy. "Tell me more stories."

So he _had_ heard, Uther thought with a little embarrassment. Some of the stories he'd told his son weren't exactly…kingly. "I'm sorry, Arthur, I can't stay right now," he said. "I've been here for three whole days, and I must get back to my duties. Gaius will stay with you for a while, and I'll send servants to tend to you until you are completely recovered." He brushed Arthur's hair out of his eyes. "I love you, my son," he said quietly, before squaring his shoulders and striding purposefully out of the room.

Arthur tried hard to swallow his disappointment. What good was it for his father to spend three whole days with him if Arthur slept through all of it? He didn't want Gaius, and he didn't want a servant. He wanted his father!

Gaius sighed, and resumed wiping Arthur's forehead and the rest of his face with a damp cloth. It wasn't really necessary anymore, but he had seen the tears threatening to spill, and thought it might help the boy save face. He gave Arthur something to help him sleep again, and left as soon as the servant came to take over. After all, there was still a dangerous epidemic in Camelot, and Gaius had many patients to see.

The next morning, Arthur was sitting up in bed eating a light breakfast. He did not mention or ask after his father to anyone.

**Age 10**

As part of his studies, Arthur was expected to learn about the history of Camelot. Geoffrey of Monmouth had just given the prince a large book to read on the subject. It was covered with dust; Arthur suspected it hadn't been opened in ages. But he dutifully carried it back to his chambers and set it down on his table.

As he leafed through it, Arthur realized that something was stuck between two of the pages. He pulled it out, and discovered it was a letter, written in a fine hand. The salutation read: My Dearest Uther. Arthur swallowed hard and looked at the bottom of the letter. Sure enough, it was signed: Your loving Igraine.

Arthur paced back and forth, the letter held carefully in his hands. An actual letter, from his own mother to his father! She had touched the same parchment that he was holding now. Arthur wanted to read the body of the letter, but he suspected that it was a love letter. (Yuck!) It probably wasn't any of his business. Yes it was; this was his mother! He had never held anything of hers before. But his father – the king wouldn't like it. If he knew that Arthur had this letter, he would be very angry. He'd most likely burn it. Arthur thought for a long time. Finally he tucked the letter back where he had found it, unread. And then he went to find his father.

King Uther was standing at a large table covered with charts, discussing taxes with two of his advisors. They had been at this all afternoon, and it was giving the king a headache. He saw his son enter the room, and seized on the respite. "We will meet again to discuss this matter tomorrow," he said, effectively dismissing the advisors. "Ah, Arthur, I am glad to see you. I hope you have something more pleasant to discuss than taxes!" Uther smiled wanly as he walked across the room to join his son.

Arthur immediately began having second thoughts. This was not a good idea, not at all. He really didn't want to be yelled at today. But if he backed down now, he knew he would feel like a coward. And Arthur Pendragon was no coward. So he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and said, "I found something today that belonged to my mother. I want to keep it. I know you refuse to talk about her, and I don't think that's fair. You have memories of her, but I don't. She was _my_ mother, and I know nothing of her except her name. I am learning about the history of Camelot, and she is part of that history. I want to know about her, what she was like, and who she was." He hesitated, but could think of nothing more to say, except "Please."

During Arthur's speech, Uther's first reaction was anger. But he also realized his son was right. It was time the boy knew something about the woman who had given her life so that he might live. Igraine would have wanted Arthur to know her. Uther stared down at his son for a moment, and finally said, "Let's talk in my chambers."

The two sat side by side on Uther's huge bed. Arthur asked his questions, and Uther did his best to answer them, even though some were painful.

Arthur had known his mother had died when he was a baby, and he had heard rumors that it had happened during childbirth. "Does that mean I killed her?" he asked with trepidation. If it was true, no wonder his father had never discussed her with him. He must hate him!

"No, Arthur," Uther hurried to reassure his son. "It wasn't you. You did _not_ kill your mother." The king kept the rest of the story to himself; it would never be known.

"Are you sure?" asked Arthur.

Uther nodded. "I give you my word."

Arthur relaxed, and rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. "What was she like? Was she beautiful?"

Uther smiled. "Igraine was the most beautiful woman I ever met," he said. "Her hair was like yours, but long, down her back, when we met. You have her eyes, too. She had the sweetest voice, and I loved to listen to her sing."

Uther went on to describe things about Igraine, things everyone had known and things that had been special between the two of them. Arthur listened eagerly, finally having a picture in his mind to fill the empty hole where his mother belonged.

At some point, dinner was brought in, and the two moved to the table, still talking. Uther told Arthur some of the foods Igraine had liked, and that she had absolutely refused to eat pickled eggs. Arthur laughed at that piece of information, trying to imagine the beautiful queen turning her nose up in disgust.

"So what item of your mother's did you find today, Arthur?" His father's question brought Arthur back to reality with a bump. What would his father do with the letter?

Arthur swallowed. "Do I have to tell you?" he asked. At his father's slow, commanding nod, he sighed. "A letter. I think it's a love letter. I didn't read it. But I saw her signature."

"Go get it," Uther commanded. When Arthur hesitated, he added, "I promise I will not destroy it. Get the letter, and hurry back."

Arthur ran back to his chambers and got the letter. He quickly returned to his father and dutifully handed it over.

Uther held the parchment reverently. "Where did you find this?" he whispered.

"In a book."

"And you haven't read it?" the king asked. Arthur shook his head. "Then why do you want to keep it?"

"It was hers," Arthur replied simply.

Uther took a deep breath. "I'd like to have it tonight," he said. "I give you my word I will return it to you tomorrow, and then you may keep it for your own. You may read it if you wish, Arthur. It isn't _that_ kind of love letter. We were apart for a time, and she missed me, and wrote to tell me so."

Arthur nodded. "Okay," he said. "I'll keep it safe. It will be my best treasure."

Uther smiled at his son. "I know you will."

That night, Uther read the letter over and over, and missed his Igraine more acutely than he had in a long time. His tears flowed freely. But the things he had shared with Arthur that evening helped him through the pain somehow, and those he shed were healing tears.

The next morning, Arthur awoke to find the letter on his table, along with a tiny oval portrait no bigger than his palm. He didn't need to see the note beside it to know he was looking at his mother's face.

END

**A/N: I don't think I've ever seen a fireplace in the throne room. However, I think a castle would have fireplaces in most (all?) rooms, since castles are cold, drafty places. Just because we haven't seen it doesn't mean it isn't there. So I've taken some artistic license and given the throne room a fireplace for the end of ****Age 4****.**

**I hope it's not too obvious that I know nothing about sword fighting (or broomstick fighting, for that matter!). That being said, ****Age 15**** is a short version of a longer story I started called "Arthur's First Tournament." It had a lot more dialogue, things leading up to him being allowed to compete, etc. I haven't decided whether or not to finish the longer version. (I would definitely have to do research to make the fighting believable.) Opinions?**


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